


Curiosity Killed the Cat

by anthraxfanaccount



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Catboy Jon, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Ive never done this before, M/M, Multi, girl idk how to tag this, uh, we'll leave it at that for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:22:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29515977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthraxfanaccount/pseuds/anthraxfanaccount
Summary: the magnus archives if jon had been catboy'd by a leitner in season one
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Curiosity Killed the Cat

**Author's Note:**

> please excuse the chapter name. i came up with it off the top of my head and will probably change it.

It was a Leitner. Of course, it was. Anything strange or unusual, anything bad, anything that might fuck up Jon’s life, it had to be a Leitner. This was only his second encounter with one of Jurgen Leitner’s haunted books, but that was far too many. 

Unfortunately, Jon had to concede that it was just as much his own fault as it was Leitner’s. He was the one who had been careless enough to pick up the random book that had appeared in the archives and he had been inane enough not to check the inside cover. The book was called “The Anatomy of Felis Catus'' which was inconspicuous enough. There was even a picture of a little tabby kitten on the cover. Jon liked cats and this one was charmingly reminiscent of The Admiral. He should have noticed that there was no author listed, he should have checked that damn inside cover. Instead, he took a nostalgic moment to recall his college days before opening to the first page. 

At first, it really was just a book about the anatomy of cats. Each chapter featured a specific feline body part which would be described in almost grotesque detail. Yes, Jon liked cats, but he thought this book was far beyond his affection for them. He wanted to close the book. He really did. He tried to close it but as he tried to move his hands, they felt heavy and achy. The only thing he could manage to do was turn to the next page. 

Despite his previous actions, Jon was not an idiot. He realized then that it was a Leitner, not that the realization was any help at this point. His eyes were eating up the words with increasing hunger--cats have 230 bones, while humans only have 206...cats have an extra organ which allows them to taste scents in the air...cat’s collar bones don’t connect to their other bones. He couldn’t tear himself away and he tasted copper. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He couldn’t even wonder what the Leitner was doing to him; his mind had narrowed in on a fixed point, the book, and it would not distract from its prey for even a moment. 

“Ah, hello, Jon. You’re here late.”

Jon jumped and looked up at Elias, feeling dazed. It was strange. He was sitting at his desk in the Archives--sitting in the dark as a matter of fact, though he could still see--but for a moment he had thought that he was elsewhere, that he was running through the woods after something, he couldn’t quite recall what. In a way that was a relief. He had made it halfway through a Leitner and had been left only with a strange daydream. 

“Hello, Elias,” Jon said, trying to disguise the panic that had gripped him only moments before. He felt disorientated. “I suppose I lost track of time.”

“Evidently,” Elias replied. “It’s nearly 10:00. You know, you must have remarkable eyesight to be able to read in this dark. Impressive.”

“Yes. Thank you?”  
“Right, well I’m retiring for the night. You might want to think about doing so yourself.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be leaving soon.”

“Good night, Jon,” Elias said as he walked away.

“Good night, Elias.”

Jon slumped into his chair. Elias was right; it was weird that he could see almost perfectly in the darkness of the archives. Had he always been able to do that? God, he was so drowsy now that he couldn’t think straight. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Shouldn’t have stayed here so late. Yes, but there had been the Leitner. Right, the Leitner. Jon sat up. It was still there on his desk looking unassuming as ever. He would take it home and burn it. Who knows what it might have done to him had he read the whole thing through. 

He gathered all his things, including the Leitner, and left. Outside, the air was brisk. Good, it would wake him up some. Jon couldn’t afford to be stumbling around London like some idiotic drunken sod. 

The walk to his flat was odd. It smelled strange. Actually, there wasn’t one smell in particular, there were thousands of smells. They confused and disgusted and intrigued him all at once. He caught himself going in the direction of some sort of food but managed to stop before straying too far from his path. He was hungry. 

“Alright,” Jon thought to himself. “Let’s focus on something, on a task.” 

He began to recount the items in his pantry and refrigerator, planning out his dinner and then his next grocery trip. Tea and bread and a can of tuna. Saltines and instant rice. Milk, a random jar of pickles, box mac and cheese. It did help him. Jon managed to make it to his flat without wandering after any more scents. 

When he got into his flat, he heated some water in the microwave and placed a teabag in the mug. As it steeped, he busied himself with the Leitner. 

Jon didn’t know how to go about burning things, especially indoors. He placed the book in his shower so that if anything went wrong he could turn the water on. Then, he got his lighter out and set the Leitner on fire. As the cover disintegrated, he couldn’t help thinking of The Admiral; that kitten just looked so much like him. Jon sighed and went to check on his tea. When he came back, the book was nearly gone. Eventually, he washed all of the ashes down the drain. That was that. Another piece of the horrible legacy of Jurgen Leitner gone from the world. 

So why didn’t he feel relieved? It was nonsense. He couldn’t expect himself to feel particularly emotional over a book about feline anatomy, regardless of whether or not it was haunted. Jon tried to reassure himself with his tea and a tuna sandwich, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that burning the Leitner had not been the cure-all he had hoped it would be. He noticed that the hairs on his arms were standing up. 

“This is ridiculous,” Jon said aloud. “I’m just tired and I’ve been reading too many statements at night lately.”

He tidied his kitchen and went to bed, noticing that his hands still ached. 

When Jon woke up he had a terrible migraine and his mouth felt like he had just gotten seventeen root canals. He instinctively put his glasses on, but found that they made his vision worse. Apparently, he didn’t need them anymore, which was nice and everything but, well, that didn’t just happen out of the blue. 

“God. Why did I think a good night’s sleep would make all the weirdness go away? Of course, it wouldn’t. Why would I be allowed to have anything normal.”

Jon looked at his hands with despair. Much to his chagrin, they still felt near imperceptibly odd. He flexed them. Thick black claws shot out over his nails from beneath his skin. He didn’t have it in him to be surprised. Worse still was that the sheer impossibility of his newfound claws meant he hadn’t just become a scientific oddity, he was, indeed, a supernatural occurrence. 

“The Leitner. Fuck.”

He flexed his hands again and the claws disappeared. Good. Now he stood up shakily. Yes, there was a new appendage on his lower back, a tail. He moved his hands to his head to find the source of his migraine, a pair of ears. He could hear everything so much louder and it was painfully confusing since he now had two pairs of ears to listen with. Then there was the matter of his mouth. He moved to the bathroom to stand before the mirror and pulled his lips back with his fingers. There were fangs, more or less, where his canines should have been.

“I’m a catboy,” Jon said. “A motherfucking cabtoy.”

Where was there to go from there? He tried to run through a list of friends in his head and found that there were none. He barely even knew anybody aside from his coworkers. Goddamnit. Jon checked the time. He would be late for work if he didn’t think of something soon. There was no way he was going to the Magnus Institute with a tail and ears. He’d have to call in sick today and also perhaps never leave his flat again. 

He dialed Elias’s number.

“Hello, Jon. I hope you aren’t too tired after the late night.”

“Hello, Elias. Actually, I’m calling because I can’t come in to work today. I’m uh not feeling my best.”

“Oh? Well, I hope it isn’t anything too severe.”

“Uh no. I don’t think so. Just need a little rest.”

“Alright,” Elias said after an uncomfortable pause. “Well, keep me updated. And don’t forget to inform your assistants.”

“Of course.”

“Goodbye, Jon. Feel better.”

“Goodbye, Elias.”

Jon shuttered and noticed that his arm hairs were standing up again. Cat instincts, right? Something about Elias must have put him off, though he didn’t know what. He took out his phone to text his assistants, who expressed the appropriate amount of concern but were ultimately unfazed by his absence. 

Now what? The only thing Jon could think of was to research similar statements, which was rather inconvenient since he had just called in sick and still couldn’t exactly go out and about. Perhaps a disguise would work? He could let his assistants know that he was dropping in to pick up some statements. Elias didn’t even have to know. 

Jon rummaged through his closet. The tail wasn’t much of an issue; he could tuck in underneath one of his long skirts. He’d never worn one of those to the Institute but he didn’t think any of his coworkers would care. The ears were tricky. They weren’t particularly large, but they were unfavorably placed on his head. He chose a slightly too-big bucket hat that he thought he might have stolen from Georgie back in uni. He would look absolutely ridiculous in it but it would do the trick. Plus, he wouldn’t be the weirdest looking person spotted in London. That was some reassurance. 

He grabbed his things and headed out, earning a few stares but mostly no one paid attention. Jon didn’t care much what strangers on the street thought, but he worried how his outfit might affect his professional image at work. Then again, the catboy thing would probably do more damage. He wished he didn’t have to worry about his professional image at all. None of his assistants had to put on a facade for each other. But Jon was the head archivist, the boss. He had to command respect and prove that he was worthy of his promotion, a promotion that seemed to have come at a cost. 

Jon arrived at the Institute and for the first time in his life, was met with some luck. Rosie was occupied so he was able to slip right down to the archives without her noticing. Of course, his assistants immediately noticed his arrival. In a way, it gladdened Jon. It gave the illusion that they had missed him and had been hoping for his return.

“Nice fit, bossman,” said Tim.

Jon sighed, forgetting that he had been happy to see them, that they might have been happy to see him too. “I hardly think mocking my clothing choice is a productive, appropriate, or mature use of your time, Tim.”

“No, I mean it. Where’d you get the skirt?”

“I-I don’t know,” Jon said. “A charity shop?”

“Figures.”

Sasha and Martin came up behind Tim, each cradling a cup of tea.

“Oh, Jon, you’re here! I’d have made you a cup of tea, too, if I’d know. Do you want me to?” Martin asked. 

“Martin, the man can make his own tea,” said Sasha. “Hey, Jon.”

“Hello, Sasha.”

“Um, Jon? Weren’t you sick?”

“Nothing contagious, Martin,” Jon answered. “I’m just here to pick up some statements.”

“You really shouldn’t be working when you’re sick, Jon,” said Sasha.

“I'm fine.” He tried to push past them. “Just let me get my statements and I’ll be out of your hair. I promise.”

Adopting a playful tone, Tim said, “Ah ah ah. No hats in the archives,” and made to grab Jon’s bucket hat. Jon moved out of the way, feeling a jolt of panic, and almost instinctively began to flex his hands, but he stopped before the claws came out. The last thing he wanted was to claw one of his assistants.

“Tim,” he said, trying to sound more exasperated than afraid, “Really, that isn’t appropriate. Let me in to the archives.”

Tim never intended to be mean, but he didn’t always know when to quit. “No can do, boss.” He reached for Jon’s hat again and this time he got it. 

“Um. Are you a furry?” asked Martin. 

Sasha’s mouth was agape and Tim had dropped the hat on the floor. 

“No, Martin, I am not a furry,” Jon snapped.

“Those are real,” said Sasha. 

“If those are real,” said Tim, “can I touch them?”

“No, you can’t touch them. I am still a human--”

“Well…” Tim began.

“I am still a human person. Albeit with extra appendages,” Jon finished. 

If you don’t mind me asking,” Martin said. “How did this happen exactly?”

Jon explained, despite the fact that he was feeling ashamed of himself. It was partly because he was now part cat, which was quite literally dehumanizing, and partially because he had been dumb enough to open the Leitner. He couldn’t get past that. How had he been so stupid, after everything he had seen and heard? Sasha certainly would not have opened a Leitner. Martin and Tim probably wouldn’t have either. 

“Aw Jon,” said Sasha. “You should have told us.”

“Right, because we’re so very close,” Jon replied flatly.

Tim shrugged. “Well, we’re best equipped to help you with it.”

“Yes. Show me your degree in catboy metamorphosis.”

Martin laughed. “We know about Leitners at least. And it wouldn’t hurt to have some friends by your side?”

“Yeah,” Tim chimed in. 

“I suppose…” Jon said, his tail twitching beneath his skirt in agitation.

Apparently, Sasha couldn’t help herself. “Aw, you have a tail, too.”

Jon sighed. This was something he had feared, that he would be talked down to and treated as subhuman. He was still a person, despite his cat features. Sasha didn’t mean anything by it but--

“Please don’t patronize me, Sasha.”

“Right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be condescending.”

“Look,” Jon said, “I am the same Jon. I expect you to treat me as such.”

“So that means you’re still gonna be an asshole?” Tim asked, half-joking.

Martin looked aghast. “Tim.”

“To some degree yes,” Jon answered, also half-joking, “and I expect you to tolerate it.”

“I think we can handle that,” said Sasha. “Now, as much as we all appreciate what Jon’s catboydom has done for our newfound friendship, we do need to figure this mess out. So, any ideas, gang?’

“Well, I was going to research some statements, see if anyone’s run into this particular Leitner or any similar ones before.”

“Knowing the archives, those will be impossible to find,” Tim said.

“Actually, Jon’s pretty good at tracking down statements,” Martin replied.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I can sense when they’re important,” Jon explained. “I don’t why.”

Now it was Tim’s turn to raise a brow. “So being a catboy isn’t the only supernatural thing about you, boss?”

Jon was taken aback by this. He’d never considered his ability to locate important statements supernatural, but he supposed Tim was right. No one else had that sort of power and it was nothing if not inexplicable. So he had been entangled in this web of paranormality and books and things that weren’t quite human for longer than he thought. This catboy situation just made it harder for him to extricate himself from that web. A web. Huh. Perhaps the supernatural had been a part of his life for even longer than his tenure at the Magnus Institute. That was not a comforting thought.

“I suppose you’re right, Tim,” was all Jon said. 

Sasha clasped her hands together. “Right. Well, Tim and I will help you research and Martin--”

“I’ll make us all some more tea. And watch out for anyone. I reckon we don’t want anyone else finding out about Jon’s predicament just yet, especially Elias.”

“Yes,” Jon agreed. “Especially Elias.”

They set out to work, and soon all were equipped with a cup of tea for morale. Jon found a plethora of statements about Leitners, but so far none had mentioned “The Anatomy of Felis Catus'' or anything similar. He was, however, pleased to find that his ‘cat senses’ made it easier for him to track down specific statements. Alternatively, his condition seemed to make it harder for him to put them down without reading them. He’d been halfway through a statement about a Leitner which spontaneously spawned raw meat before Tim interrupted him. 

If nothing else, Jon was glad that Tim--and Sasha and Martin--were there to intervene like that. He hadn’t really had any friends since he’d gotten a job as a researcher at the Institute. He’d always gotten along with Tim and Sasha but becoming Head Archivist had ruined any tenuous bond that had existed between them. At first, he hadn’t really cared about the loneliness except for when it was occasionally inconvenient, but then he’d taken the statement of Naomi Herne. He didn’t want to get trapped in an infinite and empty cemetery, that was for sure. Now, as if by magic--in fact, almost quite literally by magic--Jon had friends. He didn’t delude himself into thinking they were best friends or anything, but they would certainly work to stave off the graveyards and the Lukases. This catboy thing wasn’t working out too terribly after all. Still, Jon definitely wanted to go back to normal.

“I found one!” Sasha called. “And I didn’t need any supernatural powers to do it.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Alright, tell us what you’ve got.”

“Statement of Elizabeth Cobbe,” read Sasha “Regarding an unfortunate transformation and...a series of murders.”

“That is not pleasant,” Tim said.

“Do you want to read it, Jon?”

“Yes, I’ll have it.”

“Better take it to your office, boss,” suggested Tim.

“What?”

“It’s a bit spooky when you read your statements. You sort of go into a trance.”

“Oh. Yes, I’ll take it in my office.”

Jon took the statement and sat down at his desk. He was glad to be alone for once; he was feeling hungry and he didn’t think food would suffice. It worried him. His statement finding thing, his cat features, those were all tolerable. But the hunger? It felt like he was hunting something, that’s what searching for statements felt like these days. And now he was digging into his prey. Was that a product of the Leitner or was that the other thing? He didn’t know what made him so good at finding the right statements, he didn't know what about them made him fall into a trance. It was all about the statements though. It all led back to the Magnus Institute. What was this place? Jon suspected it wasn’t as benign as it appeared.

Regardless of his misgivings, he had to read the statement. He had to know if there was a way to fix this, and he had to know what the murders were about. He turned on the tape recorder and began.

As it turns out, Elizabeth Cobbe had encountered “The Anatomy of Felis Catus'' and had undergone a transformation just as Jon had. She had clearly read a bit further than him though, for she had begun to grow fur and her body had changed in other ways too. More importantly, her mind had been altered. There were times when she was coherent and human, but mostly there were times when she was an animal. Not an ordinary animal, either. The book and the transformation might have been about cats, but Elizabeth did not hunt the way a cat did. So that was what the murders were about. Elizabeth Cobbe had killed several people in some sort of animalistic frenzy. There wasn’t even any sort of conclusive ending. Cobbe had murdered five people, given her statement, and then disappeared.

Jon felt very cold and very scared. To think, he had felt reassured earlier. He had felt hopeful. Oh, this isn’t so bad. Oh, I’ve made friends now. His curse had come with cute ears and a tail but it was still a curse. Would he descend into madness like Elizabeth Cobbe? Would he kill people? Would he hunt them? Despite his previous insistence, he was a monster now and he was probably already a monster before the Leitner. The powers, the hunger, they had been there since he became the Archivist. Had he ever really stood a chance?

“I’m just like Elizabeth Cobbe. How long until I am fully consumed by that hunger that seeks to use me? That which I fear and want in turn,” Jon whispered. “No. I can’t let that happen.”

Once again, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t tell the others what he’d found or they would be afraid of him. They should be afraid. They should, but he didn’t want them to be He couldn’t just run away either or they’d suspect something. No, he had to lie. He was not a good liar and he felt uncomfortable with deception. Still, there was nothing else to be done.

Jon ended the recording and found the others. “It was a false alarm,” he said. “The statement didn’t have anything to do with the Leitner I found.”

Sasha looked skeptical but all she said was, “Must have been misfiled. Not surprising given the state of this place.”

“Right.”

“Well, it’s getting late,” Tim said. “We better leave soon.”

“It’s only 5:00,” Jon replied with a scoff.

“It’s getting late for us normal people. Let’s grab a bite to eat together.”

“Alright,” Sasha agreed, and Martin nodded his head.

“Jon?”

Jon thought guiltily that he shouldn’t be acting all amicable with them considering he had just lied to their faces. Also considering the fact that he could potentially turn into a rabid murderous beast at any given moment. It wasn’t like he could say no though, or so he told himself. Surely they would suspect something was up if he spurned their offer. It was definitely safer for him to just go with them.

“If you insist…” he said.

“We do.”

Jon grabbed his things and returned his fallen bucket hat to his head--he would have to come up with a better way to hide the ears--and they headed out. 

They ended up getting take-out since the crowded restaurants seemed to make the cat part of Jon sort of anxious. He tried to play it off as being tired, but he suspected that the others saw right through that lie. They brought the take-out to Tim’s flat since it was the closest and turned on the TV. There was nothing interesting on but there was a nature documentary that they glimpsed a scene of where a cheetah took out a gazelle. It was unnecessarily gory and it made Jon feel worse than usual. Tim turned off the TV.

“You guys up for a game of truth or dare?” Tim asked.

Jon squinted at him. “Is that a joke?”

“No. If we’re going to hang out together, we ought to get to know each other.”

“Well, you already know my big secret.”

Sasha laughed. “I’m sure you have bigger secrets than that.”  
“And if I do,” Jon replied, “It’s none of your business.”

“It is now, bossman. Sasha’s down. What about you Martin?”

“So Martin gets a choice?”

“Yes, Martin gets a choice,” Tim said, “because he’s not gonna say no.”

“Well excuse you. I’ll have you know I would have said yes,” Martin responded, “But now I’m saying no. On principal. To prove you wrong.”

“C’mon, Martin. I didn’t mean it.”

“You did.”

Tim crossed his arms and tried to hide his smile. “This is my house. And you’re a guest. Which means you have to do what I say.”

“I don’t really think that’s how it works,” said Jon.

“It is.”

“Alright, alright,” Martin conceded. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Jon pretended to look betrayed. “Martin, you were my only ally.”

At this, Martin shrugged and grinned a bit. 

“You heard the man, Jon,” Tim said. “This is a democratic nation and the people have spoken. Tim Stoker is the new president of Britain.”

“What?” Sasha laughed. “Nooo.”

“Too late.”

“Whatever.” Sasha was sat beside Tim on the couch and she shoved him a bit so that he was squished up against Jon.

Jon instinctively hissed, and then covered his mouth in horror. He thought for sure that things were going to get awkward now. The others would have to pretend that it wasn’t weird but everyone would know and--

Tim laughed. “My bad, boss.”

Just like that, things didn’t seem weird. 

“So are we going to play truth or dare or what?” asked Sasha.

Jon booed. “Did you have to remind him?”

“Thank you, dearest Sasha,” said Tim. “Let’s begin.”

They played truth or dare for a while and Jon felt incredibly childish, but nothing particularly embarrassing came of the game. About halfway through he started to feel drowsy. It was so warm sat between Martin and Tim and the day had been so exhausting. His head fell onto Martin’s shoulder and soon he was asleep.

“Would it be rude to take a picture?” 

“I definitely think you should not do that.”

“He does look cute…”

“I know. It can’t be Jonathan Sims, right? Not our Jon.”

“Just no pictures. He would hate that.”

Jon slowly opened his eyes. The voices had awoken him. He hadn’t expected to hear voices. He didn’t live with anybody--

He shot up. Intruders? He unsheathed his claws. 

“Woah, woah. Relax, bossman. It’s just us.”

Jon blinked. It was Tim. He had fallen asleep at Tim’s. It was alright. Tim, Sasha, and Martin were all standing over him, looking concerned. 

“Good lord. Do you all have to stand over me like that?” Jon said, trying to sound exasperated. “I’m not a corpse.”

“Sorry, Jon,” Martin said sheepishly.

“You just looked so cute,” added Sasha.

“Yes, so I heard you say. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t take pictures of me.”

“Tim made breakfast,” Sasha explained. “We were debating whether or not we should wake you.”

“Breakfast? Why didn’t you wake me last night? I should have gone home.”

“You were clearly pretty tired,” Martin said. “And Sasha and I stayed over so it was fine.”

Tim gestured toward the kitchen. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat.”

Jon followed the others into the kitchen, feeling disorientated. Tim had set out a stack of pancakes and some orange juice, which Jon accepted gratefully. He felt ravenous. He did not want to lash out at one of the others again. He did not want to become Elizabeth Cobbe. He ate six pancakes. To be fair, so did Tim. After he ate, he felt better.

“What time is it?” Jon asked.

“Don’t worry,” Tim answered. “It’s Saturday. You don’t have to go to work.”

Jon started to speak, but Tim interrupted. “Let me guess, you normally go to work on Saturday. Figures.”

“Well,” said Sasha. “You’re not going into work today.”

Jon let out a sigh of indignation. “You people can't just tell me what to do.”

“He has a point,” Martin said. “He’s our boss.”

“Thank you, Martin. You’re now my favorite.”

Martin blushed. “I wasn’t your favorite before?”

“No, that was Sasha obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sasha repeated.

“Before I realized she was a troublemaker just like Tim.”

“Hey,” Tim said, “I never professed to be anything I’m not.”

“That’s true. At least you spared me from the deceit,” Jon replied.

Sasha made an offended face. “So it’s gang up on Sasha day now?”

“Well yesterday was clearly gang up on Jon day, so it’s only fair,” said Jon.

“Gang up on Jon day? Who ganged up on you? Elias and the Leitner?”

“Yeah,” agreed Martin. “We’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

Martin and Sasha were joking around as he had been, but still, Jon knew they were right. They had all been far kinder to him than he had ever been to them, far kinder than he deserved. 

“Right,” he said after a moment. “Thank you for that.”

Tim put an arm around Jon. “Aw Jon. But just so you know I would really like to make an obscene cat pun right now.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t worry. I can’t think of any at the moment.”

“That’s for the best,” said Jon. “I still have claws and fangs you know.”

Sasha and Martin laughed while Tim pretended to be scared. Jon was surprised when he felt laughter coming out of his mouth, too. It felt unfamiliar. Surely it hadn’t been that long since he’d laughed. Well...maybe. Nevermind that, he was happy he was laughing now.

Eventually, Jon went home. He didn’t have any contact with the others for the rest of the weekend. That was fine. Boundaries were fine. But he found himself--what, missing them? It was strange, but yes, he missed them already. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if they didn’t see him for a while they’d forget that they wanted to spend time with him, or worse, that if he was all alone something terrible would happen. That was nonsense. What would be terrible was if he spent too much time with them and drove them away. Or if he went rabid like Elizabeth Cobbe and killed somebody. 

Jon shook his head to clear away the bad thoughts and the guilt. His hair bobbed around. He’d figured out how to hide his ears with space buns which was still a look but it was better than the bucket hat. He’d also decided to cut a hole in the back of his pants for the tail and hide it behind his wool coat on the way to the Institute. No sense in keeping it tucked away when he didn’t have to. Plus, he didn’t have enough skirts to wear one every day and that would get tiresome, anyway. The fangs were still an issue, but he figured if anyone asked he could convince them that they were just a biological anomaly. Things were actually, sort of, looking up. He just had to see if he could make it through a regular day at the archives.

He was the first to arrive at the Institute which was normal. Still, without the others the archives felt...Jon didn’t know what they felt like. They were spooky, though he hated to admit it. But they also felt like home? No, not like home. But like Jon belonged there. Like the archives were a puzzle and he was the missing piece. Perhaps there was some better way to explain it. He didn’t want to be there but he was meant to be there nonetheless. 

Jon shivered. He knew these feelings came from whatever powers were at play at the Institute. He also knew that he probably should get as far away as possible, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that just yet. There was something going on, something that he didn’t even have the shape of yet. All these statements with similar motifs and characters. There was something real even if he wasn’t ready to admit it out loud yet. And there was a very stupid, hungry part of him that needed to know what it was exactly that was going on. He was reminded of the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’ and he laughed humorously. 

Eventually, the others came in, each making a point to come into Jon’s office to greet him. Martin brought him tea, as usual, but now he stayed a bit and they talked. Jon actually liked Martin’s company. A lot. At first, he’d thought that Martin was a clumsy, blithering idiot. Then he’d simply thought Martin was kind and timid and a little bit anxious. Instead, Martin was a very pleasant surprise. He was witty, flippant, sarcastic and yet, ever so attentive to Jon in a way that made him feel cared about, interesting, not so terribly unworthy. Martin laughed at Jon’s jokes and, well, Jon was just surprised that he told any in the first place, 

When Jon was alone, he went through some statements, discarding the ones that were obviously fake and handling the ones that were real. They were making a lot of progress with the archives. It was funny, they started actually communicating and suddenly things were working out better than ever. Who knew?

It was nearly the end of the workday and Jon was in the midst of a statement when he heard a sharp knock on his office door. 

He tucked his tail away and called out, “Come in.”

Elias stepped in, his smile pleasant and unkindly. “Hello, Jon. Everything running smoothly down here?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “Things are actually doing better than ever.”

“Oh? In that case, I think you should start sending your assistants out into the field. To investigate, gather firsthand information and such.”

Jon took a deep breath, ignoring the urge to hiss. Of course, he couldn’t have a conversation with Elias without something horribly wrong coming from it. “With all due respect, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. These paranormal entities in the statements are real, they’re dangerous. I don’t want them to get hurt.”

“Come now, Jon. This isn’t Ghostbusters, they won’t be put in harm's way.”

“Didn’t Gertrude Robinson literally die in the field?” Jon asked indignantly. “That’s what you told me, anyway. I wonder if she would agree with your assessment.”

“No need to get heated. Suffice it to say, Gertrude's death was an irregular occurrence,” Elias said, his voice growing sharper. “I wouldn’t put my employees in any sort of danger.”

“No?”

“Trust me, all the paperwork and police harassment after Gertrude's death has certainly deterred me from letting another one of my employees die.”

Jon just stared.

“That was a joke, Jon,” Elias added.

“Right.”

“I see we’re not feeling humorous right now. I’ll leave you to your work then,” Elias said, one foot out the door. “But Jon, I want you to try sending your assistants out into the field.”

With that, Elias left. Admittedly, Jon wasn’t quite sure what being an archivist entailed; he was ridiculously unqualified for the job. He’d always assumed that he’d gotten it because of how impressive he had been as a researcher, but he was growing less and less sure that this simple explanation was right. What he was pretty certain about was that archivists did not go out into the field to investigate, which meant Elias had an ulterior motive. What did he want? Was Elias behind the strange powers of the Institute? Certainly not. Elias was smart--no one was as knowledgeable about the paranormal as he was--but he was, after all, just a man. A creepy, untrustworthy man, but just a man nonetheless. In fact, Elias was probably the least of Jon’s worries. 

Jon turned back to his statement and kept reading. It was one about spiders; Jon hated spiders. He couldn’t just not read it though, not if it was real. 

The next few days Jon did reluctantly send his assistants out into the field to research. They were all very understanding of the situation, they knew that if Elias had told him, then Jon didn’t really have a choice. Still, they were just as unwilling about the whole thing as he was. They did promise to be very careful, which was about as much assurance as he could get.

Things were going well despite Elias’s mandate until one day, Martin didn’t show up for work. It wasn’t unusual, people missed work all of the time. Except, Martin hadn’t called in and he wasn’t responding to any of Jon’s texts or calls. Aside from the fact that Martin was obviously breaching work protocol, they had all agreed to communicate better. It was uncharacteristic of Martin to just not say anything, which meant something was up. What if something had happened to him? No one had seen him since he’d left the Institute yesterday. What could possibly be impeding him from using his phone? What if he was dead? This was the miserable downside to having friends; you could lose them at any minute. Jon was so violently terrified he thought he was going to be sick. 

A notification went off on his phone. 

“srry i cant come in,” said the text on his phone, “i got a stomach bug.”

Jon let out a deep sigh of relief--thank god--and he texted Martin back. He hadn’t realized at first, but all of his hairs had been on end as though he had risen his hackles. He had mostly gotten used to the catboy thing, but every now and then it surprised him. With Martin safe, Jon supposed he could go back to his statements, but a growing sense of unease was coming upon him. It was stupid--or it was Jon's 'cat senses’--but Martin didn’t usually text in that abbreviated, ungrammatical sort of way. What if someone had taken Martin’s phone? No. No. That was ridiculous, Jon was being paranoid; Martin was sick so he didn’t feel like typing out every single letter and period. Yes, that was it. 

Jon turned back to his statement, not feeling reassured at all. Best to distract himself rather than dwell. He was reading another statement about the house on hilltop road. It was a promising lead if he could sort it all out. Evo Lensik, the tree and the apple, Agnes Montague. He certainly wouldn’t be sending any of his assistants there any time soon. Unless, he thought bitterly, Elias told him to. 

The tape recorder clicked on and Jon sighed. “Statement of Father Edwin Burroughs.”

When Jon was done with his statement, he was deathly tired, but it had always been that way. Now, though, his catboy condition meant he wouldn’t be able to concentrate until he’d had a quick nap. He sunk into his office chair, wrapping his cardigan tighter around his body and curling his tail. The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was the distant sound of Tim and Sasha’s laughter from the bullpen. 

“Jon,” said a sing-songy voice. “Wake up.”

He lifted his head groggily. “Ah, Sasha. And Tim.”

“It’s time to leave,” Tim said. “Get up.”

“We’re taking you out for drinks,” Sasha added.

“I don’t drink.”

Sasha looked unimpressed. “Fine. But we’re still taking you out. You can have a soda or something. And you can get something to eat.”  
“Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Tim answered.

Jon sighed as though he was annoyed, but he wasn’t really at all. He appreciated that Tim and Sasha were thinking of him and he felt ravenous again. There wasn’t time for a statement and obviously, he couldn’t hunt, so some pub food would have to do. He gathered his things and walked out with the others.

“We could stop by Martin’s house,” he suggested, hoping that wasn’t a weird thing to suggest. “See if he’s feeling better?”

“That’s actually a good idea,” said Sasha. 

They walked to Martin’s flat. It wasn’t too far away, though it was farther than Tim’s. When they arrived at the building it was strikingly absent of people. The halls exuded emptiness and there was a foul odor coming from the walls; it was like wet soil after rain, like fungus. Tim and Sasha didn’t seem to notice it, but it took everything in Jon not to throw up. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck were standing up and he was trying desperately not to allow his tail to twitch in case the place wasn’t as empty as it seemed. 

The elevator they took up to Martin’s floor stank strongly enough that Tim and Sasha noticed it now and the top corners of the walls were covered in a white and green speckled mold. The whole building was filthy. Martin might have only been an archival assistant, but unless something else was draining all of his money, he could undoubtedly afford to live somewhere at least a little bit less disgusting. Tim’s place was certainly better.

“I have the feeling,” Sasha said as they stepped out of the elevator, “that something strange is about to happen.”

Her foot hit the ground with a squelch. When she lifted it, there was a small pulp of green and white and red beneath. Further down the hallway, there were more of them, uncrushed. Thousands of tiny, writhing white worms and at their epicenter, what looked like a corpse in a red dress. Something itched at the back of Jon’s mind and as he called the memory to the forefront, it felt like static. 

“What was her name?” he murmured, and louder, “Prentiss...Jane Prentiss!”

Before Tim and Sasha could react, the corpse--not actually a corpse--snapped its head up toward the noise. Its face was covered in holes, almost like a honeycomb, and from them worms slithered in and out. Prentiss opened its mouth as though to speak but all that came out was a strangled cry and a mass of maggot-looking worms. Then Prentiss, seeing no other way to communicate, rose. It moved slowly, but there was no way to evade it; the worms were closer and they were faster.

Jon unsheathed his claws and knew that his pupils were large. He felt his adrenaline rise; he was ready for the hunt, but what could he do against thousands of worms? He scanned them wildly as they neared, searching for the right thing to do. There was nothing. He and his assistants were going to become a part of the flesh hive.

In his peripheral, Jon could see that Tim was prepared to stomp out the worms as best as he could and Sasha--quick-thinking Sasha--reached for the nearest thing she could grab: a fire extinguisher from the wall. Instinctively, she released the spray onto the worms, showering them in a cloud of white carbon dioxide and nitrogen. The worms screamed and it was one of the most inhuman things that Jon had ever heard. He felt his ears were going to bleed so he covered them and shut his eyes until the sound was gone. When he looked up again, the floor was littered in shriveled worm husks but Prentiss was gone. 

“Where did it go?” Jon asked, his breathing heavy.

Tim shrugged and Sasha said, “We shut down the same as you. Plus the CO2 blocked our view for a moment. What was that? You recognized it. What was it?”

“That was Jane Prentiss,” Jon answered slowly. “I worked a bit on her file in research. I think we have her statement somewhere in the archives. She--it--used to be human…”

“That thing isn’t dead, is it?” Tim said. “That would be too lucky.”

“No, I don’t think it is.” Jon looked at Martin’s door where there was a large concentration of worms. “We should go check on Martin. God, he said he had a stomach bug.”

Tim furrowed his brow. “Do you think it was a joke?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so?” He knocked on the door.

“Bloody hell! Just go away already!” came the harassed voice of Martin.

Relief washed over Jon, cool and reassuring. For a second he had worried that the worms had made it into the flat. “Martin!” he called. “It’s me, Jon! It’s safe now!”

Martin’s voice was closer now, and softer. “Jon?”

“Yes, it’s me. You can open the door.”

The door creaked carefully open. When Martin was in full sight, Jon’s shoulders loosened. Martin looked alive and well, though dreadfully tired. 

“They’re gone?” Martin asked, observing the worm husks.  
“Yes. Jesus, Martin. What happened? You told me you had a stomach bug! Was that meant to be funny? Why didn’t you say anything?” Jon demanded. 

“Alright, alright. Calm down. That thing took my phone,” said Martin, “And...I’d like to make a statement about what happened. If that’s okay.”

“Yes, that’s fine. If you want. Tomorrow, of course.”

They all stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. What did one do after being attacked by worms? Jon had known Prentiss was real, had known all of the horrors he so vehemently denied were real, but he’d never seen them up close. Sure, he’d had his two Leitner encounters, but he’d never before feared for his life the way that he had moments ago. How did he process that? How did he just walk away?

When the moment grew too silent, Tim clapped his hands together, plastering that familiar smile of his back onto his face. “Right,” he said. “So, sleepover at Martin’s, then?”

“I don’t have any food,” Martin replied. “Except a bunch of canned stuff. I swear if I have to eat another can of peaches, I’ll riot.”

Sasha shrugged. “That’s fine. We can order in. Not sure what to do about the worms, though. Might freak the delivery guy out a bit.”

“He’ll cope,” said Jon.

The others looked taken aback.

“I was joking. Christ. We can just meet them out front.”

They went inside, ordered pizza, and spent the rest of the night on Martin’s sofa watching children’s cartoons and trying to calm their nerves. They also made Martin agree to stay in the archives for a while in case Prentiss came back. Apparently, there was no way he could get a new place at the moment; it would be too much of a hassle for Martin to move out of his current flat. Jon couldn’t help still wondering why the building was so empty of patrons. Had Prentiss scared them off? Or had they never been there? Such a giant place and Martin seemed to be the only resident. It must have been so lonely. 

The next day Martin did give his statement. As it turned out, he had encountered Prentiss while investigating Carlos Vittery’s case, which had involved spiders. Apparently, Martin, knowing Jon hated spiders and that Jon was generally stressed out, had decided to go above and beyond and check out Vittery’s flat. He’d wanted to 'close the case’ as best as it could be closed to reassure Jon. Of course, given what had happened, all it did was make Jon feel guilty. And angry. It was--to some degree--Elias’s fault, after all, for he had been the one to suggest going out into the field. Jesus. What was Elias’s problem? Jon couldn’t shake the feeling that the man had orchestrated the Prentiss ordeal on purpose.

Jon supposed he had bigger problems than Elias; he had himself to deal with. The statements managed to tide him over for a few hours, but lately, he had this feeling that he needed more. The hunger wasn’t so sharp anymore; it was dull but more insistent. It was easier to ignore but he didn’t want to ignore it. He wanted to satiate it once and for all. Was this hunger a product of the Leitner or a product of the paranormality in him that seemed to originate from the Institute? He had long since side-lined trying to cure his cat-boyhood, but perhaps that was the wrong thing to do. Perhaps he needed to fix this before it got worse, before he hurt someone. And if he didn’t, perhaps he would turn into a monster.

“Fuck,” Jon muttered into his empty office. “I need to take care of this fast.”

The internet, for all of its wisdom, was remarkably unhelpful in this instance. There were a lot of memes about catboys which caused Jon to be far more appreciative of his friends. Though they made some jokes now and then, they still took him seriously. They were really quite great about the whole thing, about him, though he’d known that for a while. He needed to warn them. They needed to know that he could go rabid at any moment. Maybe they’d avoid him, but it was better than the alternative. He gathered the others into his office. 

“Look, guys,” Jon said. “I have something to tell you.”

Tim gasped. “You’re pregnant?” Sasha punched him in the arm.

“What? No. This is serious.”

“Alright,” said Martin. “What is it?”

“Ever since the Leitner--or maybe before that--I’ve felt this hunger. The statements helped at first, but...I don’t know...It’s sort of like bloodlust? I’m afraid I’m going to go rabid one day and attack someone, one of you guys.”

The others clearly didn’t know what to say, so Jon continued. “And Sasha? Remember that statement you found? I told you it was a dead-end but it wasn’t. The woman in the statement read the book, same as me. And then she attacked her friends.”

“Jesus, Jon,” Sasha replied. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want you to be scared of me.”

“Well, it seems like we have every right to,” Tim said. 

Jon put his face in his hands. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.’

“Look,” said Martin. “We’re not gonna abandon you, but you really should have told us. We deserve to know this kind of stuff and we all promised to communicate better.”

“Right. We’re obviously going to help you--” Sasha began.

Tim interrupted, “Still. Sorry wouldn’t do us much good if you’d gone full cat and killed us, would it?”

Jon nodded. Yes, that was fair. Actually, it was far more than fair. Once again they were being way kinder to him than he deserved. Perhaps they didn’t understand the danger they were in? They had escaped Prentiss so they thought they were untouchable? Jon didn’t understand loyalty--he understood it when he was doing it--but it didn’t make sense coming from anyone else. Why on earth would they stay by his side? Even when he didn’t have the potential to kill, even when he wasn’t being a dick, he still wasn’t a very likable person. He was, in fact, deeply annoying to those who managed to get close to him, always info-dumping one moment and retreating to his books the next. How could anyone stand to be around him?

“I don’t get it,” Jon said after a moment. “Why are you helping me?”

“You’re our friend, idiot,” Sasha answered.

“But why?”

“We like being around you.”

“Why?”

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you a four-year-old child?” Tim cried in exasperation. “We like you. We don’t have to know why. We just do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand it,” Martin explained. “You don’t have to dissect and know everything. Also, I don’t think it’s the best time for discussing the philosophy of friendship.”

“We do sort of need to fix this before you, y’know, go savage on us,” said Tim.

Jon composed himself as best as he could and flatly said, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to contain my savagery as best as I can.”

“You’re the one who told us you were dangerous,” Tim replied.

“I know, Tim. It was a joke. Sort of. I just had a statement, Martin’s statement--”

“Yes, now that I think about it...what does that mean exactly?” Martin asked. “Did you.. uh...eat my statement?”

“I don’t know, Martin. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“If we want to fix this,” Sasha said, “We should try tracking down Elizabeth Cobbe.”

Tim looked at her. “My guess? She’s in prison.”

Jon felt the same static in his head that he had felt when he’d recalled Jane Prentiss. Elizabeth Cobbe wasn’t in prison. He couldn’t be sure, but he had a hunch. And if he remembered correctly, she’d vanished after giving her statement. Where would a hunter--a murderer--on the run go? Out of the country. Somewhere vast so it’d be hard to track her down, but familiar enough that she didn’t lose her predatorial advantage. Somewhere with a lot of prey and room to hunt it down.

“America,” Jon said. “I think she’s in America.”

“Um. Why?” Martin asked.

“No, he’s right,” said Sasha. “It makes sense. Outrunning murder charges and all. She’d need to get out of the country. I’ll see if I can find an Elizabeth Cobbe in America.”

Sasha left the office and returned to her desk where she worked her computer wizardry and Tim and Martin suggested they look through the archives again for any statement that might help. Jon, for his part, stayed in his office, trying to reason it out. He’d never really been a good problem solver, but if he was ever going to be one, this was the time. 

He thought about the way he’d recalled Prentiss and guessed that Cobbe was in America. Somehow he knew that Sasha would confirm his guess, he just knew. These things that he had been knowing could be easily explained away as memory and deduction, but it didn’t feel like that was what was going on. It had felt as though he’d pulled the information from a secret library, one that didn’t exist inside his head but still he could access it. He hoped that if he was right, if he was simply knowing things, that he’d get better at it quick. The statement may have bought him some time, but he was sure that if he didn’t turn back to normal soon, something terrible would happen.

**Author's Note:**

> so if ur reading this, thank you! also, if i didn't make it obvious, the catboy thing is enhancing jons eye powers, im not just speeding things up.


End file.
